


Buckminsterfullerene

by zorac



Series: Chemistry [3]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Canon Disabled Character, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 09:22:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12429798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zorac/pseuds/zorac
Summary: After months in the hospital, Chloe finally returned home, only to find she’d traded one prison for another. Then, another birthday brings another set of wheels, and a change for the better. A stand-alone prequel toOxygen.





	Buckminsterfullerene

###### Max

Taking a turn up and down the sea front had become a regular feature of my visits to Chloe – when the weather permitted, and it was a particularly beautiful day. We’d reached the car-park which normally marked the point where we turned back. As usual, it was largely deserted; there was nothing there but a dusty old RV. Chloe was taking advantage of the empty space to send her chair weaving back and forth and round in circles, grinning madly.

“What’s gotten into you today?” I asked when she finally came to a stop in front of me.

“I dunno. Having a good pain day and being out in the sunshine with my best friend.”

“It looked like you were having fun.”

“You can’t imagine the difference having this chair made to my life. C’mon, I’ll tell you about it on the way home.”

* * *

###### Alt

When I woke up and remembered what day it was, it wasn’t a happy thought. For most newly-minted seventeen-year-olds, their birthday is a cause for celebration; for me it was a painful reminder of what happened a year earlier, and of everything I’d lost. I was so excited when Dad gave me the keys to my car, but if I’d known what was coming, I’d have flushed them down the toilet. And _that_ reminded me of the indignities of my morning ritual; best to get it over with.

I called for my parents, and they appeared after just a few seconds. “Happy birthday!” they told me in unison.

I forced a smile. “Thanks, you guys.” My eyes darted to the door to my bathroom, and Mom clearly noticed.

“You want to get that over with?”

“Yes, please.”

“Okay, then.” Together they lifted me into the transfer wheelchair, and then Mom pushed me into the bathroom while Dad followed behind with the ventilator. I prefer not to think about the minutes that followed, but when we were done Mom knocked on the door and Dad helped me back into my room; but not onto the bed. I immediately spotted the large, sheet-covered object that had appeared while I was gone.

“You know that money’s been tight these last few months,” began Mom – and I’m aware that was an understatement, because on a bad day I can feel the guilt of it eating away at me. “So we couldn’t afford to get you anything… frivolous for your birthday. I hope you don’t mind that we got you something practical instead.”

“I’m thinking,” said Dad, in a spot-on imitation of Robin Williams’ voice as the Genie, “mode of transportation.” He swept the sheet away to reveal a wheelchair, but nothing like the one I was in. It was much larger, and not only did it appear to be motorized, it also seemed to have a built-in ventilator unit. There were a number of levers attached to the headrest that looked like they might be controls. I tried not to think about how much it must have cost, or where my parents found the money.

“Wow!” I said. “That looks _awesome!_ ” The way Mom and Dad’s faces lit up told me that whatever it was they had to do to pay for the chair, it was worth it to them. That _I’m_ worth it. I was blinking back tears as I asked, “so, can I drive that thing myself?”

“Indeed you can,” Dad told me. “Would you like to take it for a spin?”

“Is the Pope Catholic?”

“Come on then,” saids Mom, “let’s get you dressed.”

When I finally came home after months in the hospital, it felt like I’d escaped from prison. Unfortunately, that feeling didn’t last much longer than the drive to our house. As my old bedroom was upstairs, my parents had converted the largely unused space behind the garage. Of course I appreciated it, but complete with adjustable bed and hoist, it felt awfully like another hospital room. And, of course, I still couldn’t move an inch without help. The idea that I might get even some small measure of my independence back was intoxicating.

Half an hour later, I was fully clothed, and strapped into my new chair. Dad gave me a quick tutorial on how the controls should work, then bent down to turn the power it on. “Okay, Chloe, why don’t you give it a spin?” He stepped away, and I leaned my head back.

The chair lurched forward. “Whoa there!” said Mom. “Careful!” I tipped my head backwards again, but much more gingerly. This time, the chair moved forward slowly and smoothly. Experimentally, I leaned my head first to one side, then the other, seeing how it turned. With much stopping and starting, I managed to maneuver across to my desk. It might not seem like much, but it felt like a huge victory.

“Ready to go outside?” asked Dad as I turned back.

“Abso-fraggin’-lutely!” I eyed up the doorway back to the lounge; it’s not much wider than my chair. “I think I might want a little help going through doors, though, just until I get the hang of this.”

“Of course,” Mom told me. “Whatever you need, Chloe.”

A few minutes later, we were out in front of the house and I had more room to move. I drove carefully down to the sidewalk and turned parallel to the road, like a drag racer taking position. “Okay, let’s see what this baby can do!” I pushed my head fully back, and the chair leapt forward; soon as was flying along at the speed of… a brisk walk. Fine, so it’s not exactly a Ferrari, but I could care less. As far as I’m concerned, it’s _better_ , because _I_ can drive it.

After nearly going straight over the curb when I get to a bend, I slowed down to the speed of a gentle stroll while I got the hang of steering as I went, rather than turning on the spot. By the time we got down to the sea front, I was feeling much more confident. I stopped, and turned to face my parents. “Thank you so much for this, you guys. You can’t imagine what it means to be able to move around by myself again.”

They shared a look, and a smile. “You’re welcome,” said Dad, “and I think we have a pretty good idea based on the size of your grin right now.”

“Would it be okay if I went off by myself for a little while? It’ll be the first time since…”

“Of course, just… stay in sight,” Mom told me.

I rolled slowly towards the lighthouse, relishing the feeling if being out in the fresh air, alone. Then I remembered the last time I’d walked along there – and who I was with. “Oh, Max,” I whispered, “I wish you could see me now.” I stopped, and looked out across the Pacific for a few minutes, before returning to where my parents were doing a poor job of pretending not to watch me.

“So,” asked Dad, “what’s the verdict?”

“I shall name her,” I proclaimed, “The Black Pearl.”

“Still a pirate after all these years, Chloe?”

“Yes, but… it’s more than that.” I put on my best Jack Sparrow impression. “What a ship is… what the Black Pearl _really_ is… is freedom.”

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by going to pick up my partner’s new, fully-customised wheelchair. Whilst her circumstances are very different from Chloe’s (contrary to depressingly popular belief, not all wheelchair users are either paralysed or have learning difficulties), the message is the same: a wheelchair she can propel herself isn’t some terrible thing she’s trapped in; it’s freedom.


End file.
